by Joe Nobody
“He does seem a little out of shape,” Terri went along. “What’s in the bag?”
“Kit for the baby, water and snacks for us, and a little helper for me… just in case.”
Terri, grunting at Slim’s use of the word “kit” for Hunter’s diaper supplies, raised her eyebrows. “A helper?”
Slim reached inside the duffle, withdrawing a tactical 12-gauge shotgun. “Just in case, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m ready when you are. I want to see this marketplace everyone keeps bragging about.”
“Me, too,” Betty chimed in, “But I’ll walk, thank you very much.”
“I’ve assigned one of the men to escort Miss Betty,” Slim reported. “He’s also been warned that she’s widely known as a big spender, so he’s prepared to haul assorted parcels and bags back to the coach.”
Everybody laughed, including Betty, who seemed proud of her reputation. “I’m just a gal who recognizes a bargain when she sees one,” she responded.
After hugging the older woman goodbye, Terri and Slim climbed in the back with Hunter. Butter, ever the cowboy, mounted the cycle’s helm as if it were his trusty steed, and began peddling. It took the big man a few moments to get used to the strange machine, but soon enough, they were flying down the streets of Galveston.
“It’s like a magic carpet,” Terri grinned, loving the sensation.
The Strand was less than 10 blocks away, the mile passing quickly with Butter’s legs pumping relentlessly at the controls. As they progressed, the Alliance team began to notice more and more people strolling along the sidewalks.
Some carried small bundles of a variety of items, a few more industrious types maneuvering small carts or wagons filled with goods. Terri noticed clothing in one such hauler; another appeared to be transporting bags of salt.
The fragrance wafting on the island breeze drew her attention next. The distinct aroma of smoldering hickory as it smoked meat, coupled with the unique scent of fish filled the air. She realized they had to be close to the exchange.
With the islanders now thickening into a crowd along the street, Butter steered to a heavy utility pole and announced, “This looks like a good place to chain our limo.”
After unloading, Terri hefted a wide-eyed Hunter into her arms and said, “Don’t tell daddy, sweetheart, but momma’s going shopping.”
A few blocks later, Terri could indeed see what all the fuss was about. Just like Meraton, tables, booths, stalls, and even a few blanket-stores were everywhere. As they began touring the ever-more crowded streets, she spied the anticipated assortment of goods, as well as a few items that were unique to the seaside community.
What stood out most to the chairwoman was the variety of seafood. Oysters, packed in salt rather than ice, were common here. Fish of all varieties, shapes, colors, and sizes were also plentiful. Many appeared to have been already smoked for preservation.
Terri practically squealed with delight when she happened across the first shrimp. Turning to Butter, she announced, “I love shrimp cocktail, but I forgot to bring along anything to barter with.”
Slim nodded knowingly, reaching inside the duffle and producing a small bag of ammunition. “I’m sure they’ll accept these.”
Terri proceeded to haggle with the old man working the booth, the homemade cocktail sauce actually costing her as much as the six shrimp. “I grow tomatoes and spices in my little garden,” the vendor explained. “But to really give it flavor, you need peppers, and those are rare these days.”
Moving to the side, Terri peeled her first bite, dipping it in the small plastic tub of red sauce. “Down the hatch,” she said to her escorts, and then plopped the delicacy into her mouth. After chewing for a moment, she grinned, smiled, and then frowned.
Waving her hand to blow air into her mouth, she croaked “Water… hurry… water,” to Slim who immediately unzipped the duffle and produced a small bottle of clear liquid.
Terri gulped several mouthfuls, and then wiped a tear from her cheek.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” a concerned Slim asked.
“I’ve never been better,” she replied, plopping a second crustacean into her mouth. “It’s just been a while since I’ve tasted anything spicy. These are wonderful. You have got to try a bite,” she offered.
An hour later, they finished touring the expansive area, Terri absolutely inspired by what she saw. “We need more of this,” she noted to Slim. “Every Alliance town should have a market. We can start hooking them together once we get electricity and fuel. People can take what’s plentiful in one area and trade it in another.”
A strong breeze blew down the street, the gust prompting Slim to glance toward the sky. “Starting to cloud up a bit, ma’am. You mentioned something about showing Hunter the ocean. If we’re finished here, it might be a good time to head that way.”
On the return trip to the bicycle-taxi, Terri stopped and held Hunter in front of a small display of children’s toys. “What draws your eye, sweetie?” she cooed to the child. “Help mommy pick something so you can have a souvenir from our trip.”
Hunter reached for a small, stuffed bear, complete with a t-shirt that read, “I love Galveston.” It cost Terri two cartridges to acquire the memento, but she didn’t care.
The wind had grown blustery by the time they arrived at their transportation. “I’m glad you’re the one peddling into this headwind,” Slim teased his friend.
Butter shrugged, producing the key and unlocking the contraption. “Next stop, East Beach,” he replied happily. “It’s a few miles from here, so sit back and relax. Enjoy the scenery.”
Bishop was back on top of the railcar as they pulled away from their third stop. Just like the previous two stations, there had been a brief exchange of passengers and freight. About the only thing interesting at this junction was the addition of a 14th car, the choreographed switching and coupling from a side-rail holding the Texan’s attention. I always wondered how they did that, he thought.
Noting the new flatbed was piled full of split timber, he asked the passing Gomez, “Is that wood to fuel the train?”
“No, that’s our primary export to Galveston. They have plenty of fish and oysters, lots of water and salt, but there’s hardly a tree on the entire island. According the stories I’ve heard, they smashed and burned every spare piece of furniture for firewood before we started running the train.”
After Lady Star was topped off with water from a hand-powered pump, they were again on their way.
From his elevated position, the Texan could identify a bend ahead. As they had progressed south, the woods on both sides of the track had been thinning, each passing mile allowing him to relax just a bit more. He knew that if he were going to rob the train, he’d prefer the cover of dense foliage.
The combination of the new, heavy freight car full of firewood, the water, and the curvature of the tracks combined to keep their speed low. It all came together for Bishop just as he recognized the first outline of a man near the rails.
“Grim, heads up. I don’t like this. East side… near that big bush.”
Before his partner could look, the engineers slammed on the brakes. A quick glance ahead confirmed the Texan’s suspicions; a barricade of heavy logs blocked the tracks in front of them. “Shit,” Bishop hissed, throwing the safety off his rifle and going prone on the rooftop.
They came out of the forest, at least six shooters running bent at the waist. The first shot zipped over Bishop’s head as the locomotive came to a halt. The Texan centered the front post on the closest man’s chest and fired.
Grim’s weapon barked next, his first shot causing one of the bandits to double over and fall.
The trackside raiders didn’t charge the train, however. Taking cover behind a small mound of earth or the closest tree, they seemed content to simply snipe at Bishop and Grim. Given the accuracy displayed so far, Bishop wasn’t very concerned.
“This is it?” Bishop shouted at Grim over the din of gunfire.
“This is all they’ve got?”
The Texan glanced at the other side of the tracks, thinking he would find the primary attack coming from that direction. There was nothing but scattered pines and scrub. This doesn’t make sense, he thought.
After the exchange of a few more shots, Bishop looked forward at the cowering engineers. “Back up the train!” he yelled. “Put her in reverse, and back out of this ambush. Go at least a quarter of a mile.”
“It will take a minute,” one of them shouted back.
Bishop nodded his understanding just as a bullet tore into the metal roof of the car, the round impacting no more than two inches from his head. I need to get down from here, he determined. They’re finding the range, and I’m too exposed.
He went for the small hand-ladder, thinking of climbing down and then moving off to flank the shooters from the north. He glanced back along the length of the iron horse, wondering where Gomez and the rest of the red bandanas were. Movement caught his eye at the last, recently added car, a chunk of wood flying off the load. What the hell?
That first projectile was soon joined by another, and then another. Bishop stopped his descent, completely puzzled why the logs were jumping out of the car like popcorn flying out of a pan. He then saw an arm appear, followed by a tarp being pulled back. He inhaled sharply when their faces appeared, covered in handkerchief masks. At least 10 men came boiling out of what had moments ago been a simple load of timber.
“Grim! That last car we just took on is a Trojan horse! It’s full of shooters!” Bishop shouted to his friend.
Before Grim could digest the words, Gomez and the other guards began running toward the engine from their station at the middle of the train. Bishop tried to wave and warn them, but it was too late.
Enough of the hidden bandits had exited their hide to engage the security detail from behind. The first volley of shots took down two of Gomez’s reinforcements.
Shocked by the surprise attack from the rear, Gomez and his remaining man scurried for any cover they could find. The man dove under the train, his choice a life-ending mistake as the engineers finally got Star rolling backwards. His screams were heard over the gunfire.
Bishop, still on the ladder, reversed his direction as well, deciding the high ground was the better tactical position. He reached the roof, and then dashed toward the back of the train, bounding to the next car as their backward speed increased.
He wasn’t the only one who realized the high ground was the superior option.
Two bullets tore through the air as he landed from his hurdle. There was no cover, no place to hide, so the Texan took a knee, aimed, and began firing at the three men moving toward him from the Trojan car.
The movement, vibration, and distance didn’t bode well for accurate aim, the front post of Bishop’s iron sights difficult to hold on target. He started spraying and praying.
One of the attackers went down on his second shot, the other two scrambling to lie prone.
Bishop started to do the same thing, thinking going low would allow whoever was the best shot to win the shootout, but the appearance of more heads mounting the ladder changed his mind.
Despite the train now rolling in reverse at a considerable speed, Bishop rose up and charged toward the attackers, randomly firing a round every few steps in a weak attempt to keep their heads down. He advanced three more cars before going flat and exchanging several shots with the ever-increasing number of foe at the back of the train.
Grim appeared at Bishop’s side, the big guy bellowing “Coming in!” as he landed onto Bishop’s car and rolled into position. In a few moments, two rifles were pumping rounds towards car thirteen.
“Nice day, ain’t it?” Grim said as he popped a full magazine into his weapon.
“Little humid for me,” Bishop replied, letting lose with a quick three-round burst. “We need a good downpour to cool things off.”
Grim centered on a man rising to his knees and fired, the impact sending sparks and metal splinters flying, inviting the target to rethink his aggressive advance. “I didn’t see the forecast for the rest of the week. Are we expecting rain?”
Three bullets thwacked into the roof between the two Alliance men, both of them scooting backwards a few feet to mess with somebody’s aim. “Yeah, I think we’re in for light showers tomorrow. Then it’s supposed to get hot again,” Bishop replied between shots.
Grim sensed the raiders were gathering for a rush. Switching his weapon’s selector switch to full automatic, he sent a punishing burst into the group. After watching one of the bandits fall screaming from the roof, he matter-of-factly replied, “Well, that’s good. My lawn could use a good dowsing. Is it supposed to come early or late? I was thinking about a round of golf.”
Again, the attackers tried to rise as a group and advance, but Bishop was ready. His carbine barked repeatedly, sending withering, hot lead at the cluster and knocking down the man closest to him. “Damn,” Bishop snapped when his bolt locked back empty. “Terri’s been on me to clean the BBQ grill, or I’d go play a round with ya.” Bishop rolled to his side, pulling out a fresh box of pills and jamming them home. “But we both know an unhappy wife leads to an unhappy home.”
Grim kept up a steady rate of fire, but it wasn’t enough to keep the attackers from advancing to the next car forward. “I could still make a tee time if you can get away. Does a body good to spend an afternoon on the links now and then.”
“They’re getting closer,” Bishop observed, “We’ve got to think of something else.”
“No shit. You’re the captain around here. Any brilliant ideas?”
Before Bishop could answer, Gomez stuck his head up between the cars behind them. Bishop, seeing the movement, almost killed his boss. “Where the fuck have you been?” Bishop yelled. “Finally decide to join the party? We could use a little help up here.”
“I managed to jump on the train,” the crew chief screamed back, “But I dropped my rifle in the process.”
Bishop shook his head, wondering how in the hell some people managed to tie their boots in the morning. Right at that moment, the engineers began braking again.
“We need to abandon the locomotive, or they’ll kill us,” Gomez declared. “I’ve been robbed before. They’ll take the freight and anything valuable the passengers have, but nobody will die.”
“People have already died, you dipshit,” Bishop screamed back over the noise of Grim’s rifle. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
“Who gives a shit about a little cargo? I think we should jump off and let them have the train. There are too many of them.”
Disgusted, Bishop half-turned between shots and sassed, “Why don’t you go find a weapon? Maybe some of the passengers have managed to not throw down their rifles yet. Maybe one of them will loan a weapon to you so you can do your damn job.”
“Who the fuck are you, giving me orders?” came the sure reply.
Grim, hearing the exchange, was clearly at his limit. Pulling the pistol from his hip, he spun around and pressed the muzzle against Gomez’s forehead. “Go do as he says, you stupid fuck, or I’ll kill you myself. Now get out of our way!”
“Okay! Okay!” the now-frightened foreman said. “No need to get pissy.”
After watching Gomez duck down, Grim returned to trying to hold off the advancing bandits. Before he could reengage, they charged forward, advancing yet another car closer.
The shortened distance translated into more accurate fire. More and more bullets were impacting closer to the two Alliance defenders. “This ain’t good,” Bishop declared. “We’re going to get overrun here in a bit. That… or run out of ammo.”
Grim had to think about Bishop’s comment for a minute, sending another string of bullets at their foe. Before he could respond, one of the attackers jerked as if he were being electrocuted, and then the report of a new, distant rifle rolled across the landscape.
“I think the kids have arrived,” Bishop smiled.
; The bandits were confused, looking at each other and all around, trying to figure where the bullet had originated. A cloud of red and grey mist appeared as another man’s head virtually exploded.
“Looks like Kevin has his rifle zeroed in pretty well. About damn time they showed up,” Grim commented, his own weapon adding to the mayhem erupting on car nine.
Bishop added another few rounds himself, and then a thought occurred to him. “How do we know they are all on top with us? What if some of them are making their way forward through the cars?”
A troubled look crossed Grim’s face as he continued to pull the trigger. “Shit! That wouldn’t be good.”
“Looks like you guys have this under control,” Bishop said. “I’ll go clear the cars below.”
Bishop climbed down the ladder, dropping onto the platform, entering the passenger car a few moments later. He could hear Grim’s rifle finding steady work, but the rhythm wasn’t panicked.
The Texan passed through a cowering group of frightened passengers, most of the wide-eyed riders huddled on the floor. Keeping his rifle at ready as he made his way through the throng, he shouted for everyone to keep down and as far away from the windows as possible. He exited out the back and was in the next car, again rushing toward the rear of the locomotive.
By the time he cleared the fourth car back, the shooting overhead was beginning to slack off. He found himself on a flatbed, climbing over the cartons of freight roped to the surface. Number six was another passenger unit.
He found the sixth unit void of bandits, and passengers. Reaching to open the door at the rear, Bishop was momentarily distracted by one of the windows exploding in a shower of glass. He crouched, scanned the area outside, and quickly determined it was nothing more than a random, misplaced shot. He opened the exit door and came face-to-face with a masked man. Before he could bring up his weapon, the guy threw a haymaker of a punch, landing the blow just above the Texan’s eye.
